The Blood is Thicker Than Crime Job
by A Lyrical Dreamer
Summary: New Chapter is up my friends. A job causes Eliot to go undercover as FBI in Santa Barbara after their mark gets murdered. Where he unsuspectingly meets up with his cousin Shawn; hilarity, frustration, detecting, conning and adventures ensue. No real pairings. Set in the beginning of Season 2 of Leverage and a Season 5 or 6 of Psych (I haven't decided yet)
1. Ridiculous: Psych Style

**So, my first cross over and I hope you all enjoy. I'm doing this one a little differently in that I'm updating as I write (whereas normally I write the whole thing then update) so updates may be sort of slow (reviews may speed up my writing process, hint hint). **

**Enjoy :)**

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><p>"Shawn this is ridiculous!"<p>

"No. What's ridiculous is you believing this is ridiculous. I mean, what could be more ridiculous?"

"That sentence is what's ridiculous."

"No. The word ridiculous is what's ridiculous. Ridiculous. Rid-ic-u-lous. Ridiculo..." Shawn said, sounding at the word in his mouth

"Shawn!"

"Alright Gus! And what, pray tell is ridic... foolish about this plan?"

"There's no way we're going to pass for art experts. Neither of us knows anything about art!"

"The security guard isn't going to know that," Shawn stated as he approached the security guard, a young, dark skinned man standing, obviously bored, with his hands behind his back. "Excuse me Mr... Gale," he said, reading the name off his security tag. "My name is Shawn Spencer and this is my partner Lance Lionel Lexignton, one 'x', one 'o'. We are the art authenticators."

"Art authenticators?" Gale asked.

"Yes indeed. We came here from New Orleans to authenticate art in an authoritative, expert and _artistic_ manner," he replied, adding flair to the word 'artistic'."

The guard paused for a moment as he pondered, then reached for a set of visitor's badges and handed them over.

"Ridiculous you said?" Shawn whispered mockingly as they walked inside.

"It's still ridiculous!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Shawn stared, making faces, at the unusual piece of 'art' lying before him. He stared at it from several angles before he finally made a definite judgement.

"Yup, definitely ridi.."

"Don't say ridiculous!" Gus interrupted. "You've overused it."

"You're the one who started it," Shawn complained childishly.

"You must be our authenticators?" A British voice came from across the gallery, preventing Gus from making a similarly childish remark.

"Uh, yes!" Shawn replied. "They were actually expecting authenticators?" he whispered to Gus.

"I told you this was a bad idea," he replied.

"Yup, that's us. Shawn Spencer," he said pointing to himself. "And Lance Lionel Lexington," he said pointing at Gus. "And you?"

"Georgia Myers, Interim Curator. And what an interesting name mister Lexignton," she commented offhandedly.

"Interim?" Gus enquired.

"Yes, the permanent curator is... indisposed," she replied. "But no matter. I'll take you to the piece I'd like you to authenticate."

She led them through a series of hallways as Gus mumbled under his breath. This wasn't their plan for the day; their plan was to go and check out the museum's security, which had the same system as a case they were working on, to find any holes in the way it worked (they hadn't, yet). Instead, Shawn's big mouth, over-active imagination and tendency to exaggerate had caused them to be in what was turning out to be a giant mess. What upset Gus most was that this was business as usual.

The curator led them to what appeared to be some sort of preservation room, where they kept the undisplayed paintings. She directed their attention to a medium sized canvas.

"That's a Van Gogh self-portrait," Gus stated enamoured not so much with its artistic beauty but with its sheer fame.

"We hope so," the curator stated. "This particular painting was stolen several years ago and has just recently resurfaced. We want to make sure it's legitimate before we announce anything."

"Well," Shawn staring intensely at the piece. "I can say that I'm one hundred percent sure that that's probably the original."

The woman's mouth opened slightly. _Surprise_? Shawn thought._ Why would she be surprised?_

"Your quite sure Mr Spencer, Mr Lexington. We wouldn't want the museum to look like a ridiculous sham would we?"

"No, we certainly don't want anything _ridiculous_, do we Lance?"

"No we do not," Gus replied, annoyed that Shawn had gotten him into a, for want of a better word, ridiculous amount of trouble, even if neither of them knew just how much trouble yet.

"Unfortunately, Miss Myers, I am not an expert in Van Goff.."

"Van Gough," both Gus and Myers corrected simultaneously.

"I've heard it both ways. But, as I was saying, clearly not an expert as evident by my mispronunciation of the _artists_ name. So, in my expert opinion, I suggest that you find a Van Gough expert to evaluate the legitimacy of your painting."

"I'm confused. Aren't you the experts we called in?"

Shawn and Gus exchanged glances.

"No, we are here by pure happenstance," Shawn stated as he began to back towards the door.

"A coincidence," Gus added, following suit. "We were just here to enjoy some art."

"But you said to security that you were here to authenticate some art?" she questioned as she rubbed her ear.

"A misunderstanding," Gus laughed.

"Exactly!" Shawn said enthusiastically, throwing his arms in the air for effect. "When said we were here to authenticate some art we meant for FUN! By coming and looking at the art you had on display!"

"Keep our skills sharp," Gus continued.

The woman let out a deep sigh as she rubbed her temples.

"Forget it!" she yelled, exacerbated. "I'm calling Maggie!"

"Good for you," Shawn stated. "You call that Maggie! Now, if you don't mind, my colleague and I will be on our way, we have work to attend to."

The curator, already on her phone, waved them off and Shawn and Gus were left to find their own way back to the museum floor.

"Well that couldn't have gone worse," Gus stated.

"What do you mean Gus! We just gained a unique opportunity! We got to see a Van Gogh!"

"You don't really care about Van Gogh Shawn. You couldn't even pronounce his name!"

"True, but we did get to check out the security system from the inside."

"And?"

"And our client is innocent."

"Good, now can we go tell Lassie and get our pay check?"

"And pineapple smoothies!"


	2. Ridiculous: Leverage Style

_ "This is actually a pretty good forgery Hardison?_" Sophie said as she carefully eying the painting as she waited for their experts to arrive. _"Is this one of yours?_"

"Nah, friend of mine in New York," the hacker replied. "Guy's a legendary conman and forger. Or was, or is. It's complicated." In the van Parker raised a suspecting brow; this man sounded familiar. She was about to open her mouth and question before Hardison began talking. "And tell me again why Eliot couldn't be the security guy? It's damn boring standing out here!"

_ "Because Eliot is still on a plane from cleaning up from our last job,_" Nate stated.

_ "Please, don't even call that last event a job; it was awful,"_ Sophie pleaded.

"We need to come up with a new system!" Hardison complained, and then quietened down as he saw two men approaching.

"Excuse me Mr... Gale," the brown haired man stated and it took Hardison a second to come to attention at the use of his alias. "My name is Shawn Spencer and this is my partner Lance Lionel Lexignton, one 'x', one 'o'. We are the art authenticators."

_ "They're here already?"_ Sophie asked, a hint of panic in her voice.

"Art authenticators?" Hardison confirmed.

"Yes indeed. We came here from New Orleans to authenticate art in an authoritative, expert and artistic manner," the man replied smugly.

Hardison paused, waiting for an okay from, well, anyone.

_ "It's alright Hardison,"_ Sophie stated, straightening out her jacket on the other side of the comms._ "We're ready."_

The hacker reached for a pair of visitors badges from behind his stand and handed them to the men, who received it with a satisfied smile.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"How's it going on your end Parker?" Sophie asked, making her way to the museum floor.

_ "Paper work's all in place,"_ the thief replied.

_ "Good,"_ Nate stated._ " It's all on you now, Sophie."_

"No pressure," she muttered under her breath than breezed up to the two men who, at first glance, did not look like art experts; one was dressed in jeans and plaid shirt, the other a sweater and nicely fitting jacket but still, not experts.

"Are you sure these are the art experts?" she asked her team.

_ "That's what they said,"_ the hacker replied.

"They don't look it," she replied quietly as she approached the men.

_ "See what you can find out about them Sophie,"_ Nate added; better safe than sorry

"You must be our art authenticators," Sophie declared as she drew closer to the men, though still several feet away.

"Uh, yes!" the one in plaid replied, then whispered something to his partner which Sophie couldn't quite make out. "Yup, that's us. Shawn Spencer," he introduced, pointing to himself. "And Lance Lionel Lexington," he said pointing to his partner. "And you?"

"Georgia Myers, Interim Curator. And what an interesting name mister Lexignton," she commented, trying to develop some insight into the men.

"Interim?" Lexington enquired..

"Yes, the permanent curator is," she paused trying to find the right word to describe the current situation of their mark. " Indisposed," she settled upon "But no matter. I'll take you to the piece I'd like you to authenticate."

As she led them to the restoration room, Lance mumbled under his breath. What he was saying, Sophie couldn't quite make out but she was beginning to think that they weren't actually art experts.

She shook the thought from her head, hoping it wouldn't matter as she directed their attention to their painting.

"That's a Van Gogh self-portrait," Lance declared, somewhat in awe and Sophie, for a moment, began to think that they just might be legitimate.

"We hope so," she replied. "This particular painting was stolen several years ago and has just recently resurfaced. We want to make sure it's legitimate before we announce anything."

_ "My first big painting score,"_ Parker said dreamily as she recalled her theft of the painting from the Louvre.

Shawn drew closer to the piece, eying it off intensely.

"Well," he began. "I can say that I'm one hundred percent sure that that's probably the original painting."

Sophie opened her mouth slightly out of surprise.

_ "Okay,"_ Nate said, also surprised. _"That was not how that was meant to go."_

_ "But he said he was a hundred percent sure,"_ Parker stated, confused.

_ "A hundred percent sure that that's probably the original,"_ Nate repeated.

_ "So that's like, eighty percent?"_ the hacker asked, still waiting at the entrance.

"Are you quite sure Mr Spencer, Mr Lexington," Sophie began, trying to get him to reevaluate the painting. "We wouldn't want the museum to look like a ridiculous sham would we?"

She saw the slightest hint of amusement in their eyes. "No," Shawn stated. "We certainly don't want anything ridiculous, do we Lance?"

"You know," Hardison began. "I'm beginning to doubt these guys' credibility."

"No we do not," Lance replied.

"Unfortunately, Miss Myers, I am not an expert in Van Goff," Spencer began and, on the other end of the comms, Nate sighed as both Sophie and Lance corrected his pronunciation.

"I've heard it both ways," he said smugly.

_ "This is turning out to be a bigger train wreck than the last con!"_ Parker exclaimed.

"But, as I was saying, I am clearly not an expert as evident by my mispronunciation of the artists' name. So, in my expert opinion, I suggest that you find a Van Gough expert to evaluate the legitimacy of your painting."

"I'm confused. Aren't you the experts we called in?" Sophie asked and the two men exchanged glances as they began to, slowly, make their way to the exit.

_ "Hardison can you…"_ Nate began.

_ "Run a background check?"_ Hardison finished for him. _"Already on it."_

"No, we are here by pure happenstance," Shawn stated.

_ "These guys are quick,"_ Parker declared.

"A coincidence," Lance added. "We were just here to enjoy some art."

_ "Okay, something is definitely up,"_ Parker continued.

"But you said to security that you were here to authenticate some art?" Sophie questioned as she rubbed her ear, the noise in her head frustrating her.

"A misunderstanding," Lance said with a forced laugh.

_ "We should have called Maggie,"_ Parker and Hardison said simultaneously

_ "No one is calling Maggie,"_ Nate, almost, shouted.

"Exactly!" Shawn said enthusiastically, flailing his arms in the air. "When said we were here to authenticate some art we meant for FUN! By coming and looking at the art you had on display!"

"Keep our skills sharp," Lance continued.

_ "These guys finish each other's sentences more than a teenage couple 'in love',"_ Hardison stated playfully.

_ "All we need is to get them to…"_

"Forget it!" Sophie yelled, exacerbated and interrupting the mastermind. "I'm calling Maggie!"

_ "No one's calling Maggie,"_ Nate instructed as the two 'art experts' mumbled something and walked off at an uncannily fast pace.

"Maggie, it's Sophie," the grifter said already on the phone to Nate's ex. "Are you busy?"

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><p><strong>So there's the Leverage side of what happened for you!<strong>

**More up in a few days.**

**Thanks for reading and double thanks for everyone who followed, reviewed or favourited. **

**Bonus points to anyone who figures out the 2 extra references in this chapter =)**

**Ta**


	3. Seriously?

"Seriously? You're giving me the silent treatment right now?" Shawn asked his partner as they drove in the Blueberry the next morning to the police station. Gus didn't reply. "Seriously? You're mad, I get it. But breaking your computer was a complete accident."

"You broke my computer!" Gus yelled angrily and Shawn grinned.

"No," the psychic replied, a giant grin on his face. "But it made you break the silent treatment."

"I'm mad," Gus began. "Because we were meant to go and collect this cheque yesterday so we could pay the cable bill."

"Oh, so you're mad because you missed the final of the Voice," Shawn grinned as they pulled up to the station. Again, Gus didn't reply. "Don't be ashamed Gus; own it!" the psychic declared as Lassiter exited the building, Juliet tailing behind. "Lassie! Jules! How did you know we were coming. Are you psychic too?" he asked sarcastically.

"There's been a murder," the head detective declared as he walked straight by Shawn.

"Who?" Gus enquired.

"The curator down at the museum," Juliet said pausing to greet them.

"The curator?" Gus asked horrified.  
>"Why? Did you know him?"<p>

"Him?" Shawn questioned then recalled what Myers had said the day before.

_"The permanent curator is indisposed."_

"Yeah," Lassiter began. "George LaFleur."

"I think we should come along," Shawn stated, rare seriousness in his voice.

"Seriously?" Lassiter said, turning around and tearing of his sunglasses. "You can't just tag along to whatever crime scene you want Spencer."

"No, Lassie, we were there yesterday and the psychic vibes were seriously off," Shawn began. "I didn't think anything of it until now."

Lassie stared for a moment then turned back around.

"Fine, you can come," he said reluctantly.

"Seriously?" Shawn and Gus asked simultaneously, both seriously surprised.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"This is a seriously nice hotel suite," Shawn declared as he surveyed the murder scene. "And that's a lot of blood," he stated as he noticed the pool of blood on the floor in the middle of the room; a factor which definitely lowered the fanciness of the room.

"He was stabbed six times," Juliet informed.

"Six?" Gus confirmed. "Somebody seriously had it out for this guy."

"There were no signs of forced entry," Juliet declared. "The coroner said he'd been dead for two days."

"This guy was a local, why was he staying a hotel?" Gus queried.

"Not sure," Juliet replied as Shawn continued to survey the room. "The room was paid in advance in cash; it's untraceable."

"I am getting a psychic vibration," Shawn suddenly spurted out, placing his hand to his temple. "I'm picking up on good vibrations. Good, good, good vibrations," he continued theatrically as Gus rolled his eyes. "Only they're not good; they're evil. Evil, murderous, artistic vibrations."

"Cut the crap Spencer!" Lassiter yelled aggressively

"I'm sensing pertinent information will be found at the Gallery where our victim worked," Shawn disclosed quickly. "Specifically the interim curator," he said, this time slowly and with more suspense.

"Let's go check it out," Juliet said excitedly as she made her way to the door.

"This is going to be a seriously easy case," Shawn whispered to Gus as they made their way to the blueberry.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Maggie'll be here in an hour," Sophie declared as she paced around the gallery, carefully enjoying the art they had hanging on the gallery walls. "What's Eliot's ETA?"

_ "I'll be at the gallery in 10 minutes,"_ Eliot declared over comms as he drove in the rental towards the rest of the team.

_ "Cool, meet us in Lucille,"_ Hardison instructed.

_ "Gotcha. And I'm gonna need someone to explain why we called Maggie."_

"Miss Myers," a gruff voice came from behind Sophie, who turned around briskly.

"Can I help you?" Sophie asked.

"I sure hope so," the man said as he shifted his jacket to reveal a shiny police badge. A young blonde woman beside him did the same. "Detective Carlton Lassiter, this here is Detective O'Hara.

_ "Seriously?"_ Parker exclaimed over comms._ "Can't just one job work for us?"_

"Detective? Is something wrong?" Sophie asked, slight real and fake worry in her voice.

"Yes, the curator for this gallery was murdered two days ago," Lassiter said, without any hint of remorse or empathy in his voice.

"La Fleur is dead?" Sophie confirmed. "How?"

_ "Sophie play along,"_ Nate instructed from the van. _"Hardison I have a feeling we're going to need some police aliases."_

"On it," the hacker exclaimed.

"Can you confirm your whereabouts for two days ago," O'Hara asked, ignoring, due to procedure, Sophie's question.

"Stick to the relative truth Sophie," Nate advised.

"I, uh, I was here mostly," Sophie stated.

"Ma'am we're going to need you to come with us down to the station," Lassiter said, grabbing Sophie's forearm softly.

"Why?"

"We got a tip that you might be involved," Lassiter replied as he began leading her out to their car.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Seriously?" Eliot questioned sitting on the couch in the hotel. "I have to clean up another mess? I just got back from cleaning up from our last con!"

"It's not as bad as it sounds," Nate defended unconvincingly.

"Oh it's as bad as it sounds!" Hardison disagreed. "Or did you forget that Sophie got arrested?"

_ "Did Nate just say it wasn't as bad as it sounds?"_ Sophie enquired from the dingy interrogation room.

"I can always go break her out?" Parker offered.

"No, no," Nate began.

_ "Did he just say no?"_

"Just give me the run down," Eliot stated forcefully; he needed them to get to the point.

"So we did the job yesterday," Hardison began. "The art experts that came in, turns out they weren't actually art experts…"

_ "No? Really?"_ Sophie asked sarcastically; apparently being in an interrogation room wasn't good for her; sure she could con her way out of any situation when there were people to con. But, presently, there was no one to con; they had left her to 'stew' and Sophie Devereaux, despite the fact that she was British, hated stew.

"...turns out," Hardison said forcefully, trying to draw attention back to his briefing. "They are a one Burton Guster, pharmaceutical salesman, and Shawn Spencer, Psychic detective. Any relation?" he asked Eliot jokingly.

"Psychic?" Parker panicked.

"He's not a real psychic Parker," Eliot reassured.

"Anyway, he's the one that probably brought Sophie's alias to the attention of the police," Hardison finished.

"So what's the plan?" Parker asked. "'Cause I don't wanna go near the psychic."

"He's not psychic Parker," Eliot stated once again.

"But how can you be sure?"

"Because we're related," the hitter informed reluctantly; this exactly what he'd tried to convince himself wasn't going to happen when he heard they had a job in Santa Barbara.

Hardison fist bumped the air. "Damn! I was just guessing but, damn!" Hardison said proudly.

"Cousin?" Nate guessed.

"Yeah," Eliot replied.

"Not a psychic?" Parker confirmed.

"No, just, freakishly good at what he does."

"What does he do?" the hacker enquired.

"Think, Sherlock Holmes," Eliot settled upon; the most accurate description of his cousin's job he could think of.

"Who's Sherlock Holmes?" Parker whispered to Hardison, not so quietly.

"I'll explain later mamma," Hardison said back, matching her tone and volume. He then turned to face Eliot, both of his hands on his knees, leaning forward eagerly and excitedly. "So let me get this straight. Your cousin runs a steady con on the cops pretending he's a psychic? And you never told us?"

"Pretty much," Eliot replied.

"Crime must run in the family or something," the hacker grinned as he leaned back comfortably into the couch.

_ "Does this mean you're going to come get me out now?"_ Sophie asked impatiently, her feet now sitting up on the table in front of her.

"Eliot?" Nate asked knowing that the man with first hand knowledge of who they were dealing with was likely the best person to decide their next move, as much as Nate hated giving up control.

"I'll go talk to him, see what I can dig out," Eliot decided. "In the mean time get me a federal alias and means to work on this case."

"Why you?" Parker complained. "I like Agent Hagen."

"Because, as much as Shawn is as good as what he does he's a pain in the ass kid hyped up on sugar and caffeine. He's unpredictable, idiotic and easily distracted. But I know him and how to handle him," the hitter explained.

"One federal ID coming up," Hardison stated, turning to his computer, the hitters explanation far beyond good enough.

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><p><strong>I sense trouble brewing!<strong>

**So, last chapters references were White Collar (which I seem to reference a lot) and Monk =)**

**Thanks for the reviews and follows/favs; more are always appreciated. **


	4. Churros, Movies and a Three Hole Punch

"Those were good churros," Shawn finally decided, rubbing his belly, as they walked up to the psych office, the sky already dark. "Crunchy, doghnutty Spanish goodness."

"I hear that!" Gus agreed, opening the door and walking inside. Shawn followed, stopping only to straighten the lodge painting of him on the wall.

"We need to find out more about that painting," Shawn stated, turning his attention back to the case. "Something tells me it's important."

"I'll get Googling," Gus replied as he opened the interior door into their office.

"You should remember to lock your doors Shawn," a voice came from the couch as Gus flicked on the lights. Both Shawn and Gus let out a high pitched girly scream at the threatening looking man sitting comfortably on the couch. "Geeze," the man swore; the noise was painful on his unsuspecting eardrums.

"You should remember not to sneak up on people! Damn you and your ninja training," Shawn replied as he realised who the man was.

"You know him?" Gus asked, still slightly scared.

"Gus, this is my cousin Eliot. Eliot this is my business partner Gus," Shawn said quickly.

"What? Cousin?" Gus began then paused before he grabbed Shawn's arm and turned him around. "Is this your cousin Eliot the guy who used to work for the government as a hitman? The one that's wanted in numerous jurisdictions? The one who could probably kill us and leave no trace? " Gus whispered, not so quietly.

At that moment, Eliot considered going down the whole 'I'd tell you but then I'd have to kill you' route but decided against it, knowing that his cousin linked everything he could to some sort of film, which would likely drive the hitter even more crazy.

"Yup, that's the one," Shawn whispered back. "He's also the one who saved us from being beat up by Josh Cullman in the third grade," he added then turned back around to face the hitter. "So, oh cousin of mine, what can I do for you?" Shawn asked, taking the lounge seat opposite the hitter.

"What were you doing at the gallery the other day?" Eliot enquired, cutting straight to the point.

"Why?" Shawn asked suspiciously; Eliot raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms threateningly. "We were there checking out the security; it has the same system as another case we were working on," the psychic conceded.

"And still haven't gotten paid for," Gus added.

"Does this have something to do with our murdered curator?" Shawn asked.

"Oh my gosh you killed him!" Gus exclaimed leaping back behind his desk in the hopes that it would protect him; like it would.

"No," Eliot replied. "I didn't kill him; I only got in this morning he died two days ago."

"Which is exactly what the guy who did it would say," Gus replied, holding up his two-hole punch as some sort of attempted weapon.

"Actually you should use the three hole punch," Eliot suggested; Gus raised his brow and picked up the other puncher with his free hand.

"Why? Is a three hole puncher more deadly?" Shawn asked eagerly.

"Nah, he just looks funnier with a three hole punch," Eliot grinned. Shawn took an observing stare at his friend and shrugged; he couldn't disagree.

"You do kinda look ridiculous…"

"Shawn!" Gus yelled.

"So what can you tell me about the curator? How'd he die?" Eliot asked

"He was killed two days ago in his hotel room," Shawn stated.

"I knew that already."

"Uh, Shawn, do you really think we should be discussing an ongoing investigation with a wanted criminal?"

"It's Eliot, Gus. You know how cool he is? With his ninja skills and lurking abilities. He's like a real live Jason Bourne," Shawn pleaded.

"Really Shawn? We're gonna do the Jason Bourne thing again?"

"Shawn!" Eliot pressed.

"Uh, I'm sensing he was stabbed," Shawn began, placing one hand to his temple while flourishing the other hand over his chest. "Over and over," he continued as he made a stabbing motion into his own heart.

"Cut it Shawn, I know you're not psychic," Eliot interrupted.

"Oh," Shawn said, rather disappointingly. "But I had the theatrics going and everything."

"Do you have any leads?" Eliot asked, getting back to the point. Shawn placed his hand back on his temple. "Shawn!"

"Right," the psychic said, lowering his hand quickly. "The 'interim curator'; Georgia Myers."

"She didn't do it," the hitter said firmly.

"Which is something the killer would know," Gus said quietly as he tried not to move his lips.

"Are you sure? Something was seriously off with her," Shawn stated.

"She's part of my team," Eliot stated.

"Team?" Shawn asked excitedly. "You mean there's more of you? You know what that means? That means this isn't Jason Bourne this is Mission Impossible!"

"Okay that is kinda cool," Gus agreed, lowering the hole punchers slightly before he rose them again quickly. "But team doing what?" he questioned suspiciously.

Eliot sighed; this was more exasperating that he had thought it would be.

"We're thieves," he began but moved on quickly knowing that they would try and interject to ask a question or reference some eighties movie. "We con and steal from people who rip other people off; take advantage of people who can't defend themselves. We make sure they can't do it again and that people get back what's theirs," he explained; an explanation which finally caused the salesman to put down his 'weapons'

"Really?" Shawn asked, his eyes wide with wonder. "That's awesome man! You're like Robin Hood meets the A Team meets Ocean's 11!"

Eliot allowed a grin to slip from his mouth; he would have to file that explanation away for later.

"Wait? There aren't 11 of you are there? Because that would just be uncanny!"

"Five," Eliot replied. "There are five of us."

"Eliot's five?" Gus suggested.

"Nate's," the hitter corrected; both men looked at him in confusion. "The mastermind, Robin Hood, Ocean, Hannibal, whoever; his name is Nate."

"Nate's five?" Shawn said unsurely. "Now that just sounds, not good."

"Leverage Incorporated; that's what we're called."

"Leverage Incorporated," Shawn repeated, trying out the title in his mouth. "So whaddya need?"

"You're help," Eliot said simply.

"That depends, do I get a cool nickname?" Shawn proposed. "Or cool gadgets?"

"Or paid," Gus added. "'Cause we still haven't gotten paid for that last one."

Eliot pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I need you to do what I say; that's it."

"Lame! Use my skills man!" Shawn replied and Eliot gave him one of his patented 'don't mess with me looks'. "Or, I could do what you say, that works too," he conceded. "Do I at least get to meet the rest of the team?"

"If all goes according to plan," Eliot stated and both Shawn's and Gus' eyes widened with excitement. "No." The expression on the two Santa Barbara locals' faces dropped immediately

"Come on man!" Shawn complained once more.

Then, Eliot had an idea.

"You wanna help?" the hitter asked, tossing his cousin his phone. "Get the curator out of custody."

"Really?" Shawn asked in disbelief. "But I had a vision and everything; I had a whole vibration thing going on. You can't just unvision something."

"You're not psychic," Eliot stated, giving the man one of his 'do it or die' stares.

Shawn rolled his head as he dialled Juliet's number.

"Jules!" he exclaimed excitedly.

_"Shawn,_" Juliet replied. _"Where were you? I was waiting for you for the interrogation."_

"Yeah, sorry; we got distracted by churros but that's neither here nor there.I have had a revelation. Turns out my vibrations were wrong; Miss Myers is not our culprit."

_"We know that already."_

"You do?"

_"Yes, we found it out in the interrogation."_

"Huh, any leads?"

_"No such luck I'm afraid,"_ the detective replied, sounding somewhat disappointed.

"No, well then I suppose I had better go and divine something for you. Well, talk to you later," the man hung up his phone and clapped his hands together. "Who's brilliant? Me, because your colleague has been released from police custody."

"Really?" both Eliot and Gus asked in disbelief.

"Yes really!"

Eliot rolled his eyes, reached in his pocket and pulled out his comm.

"Sophie outta custody yet? Painful," Eliot stated causing him to receive confused stares from Gus and Shawn.

"Uh, Shawn? Who's he talking to?" Gus queried. "More importantly, is he even talking to someone or are we in a room with a schizophrenic murderer?"

"I think he's talking on some sort of earwig thing?" Shawn guessed trying to ascertain, in his memories, what his cousin placed in his ears. "Which means we're crossing over into Bond territory!"

"How'd she get out? Much as I hate to admit it, the latter," Eliot continued.

"I don't think there's even a movie which fits this scenario Shawn!" Gus replied, joining in on the excitement.

"Dude! This is gonna be awesome!"

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><p><strong>As usual, thanks for reading, following and for the fabulous reviews... more of which are always welcome.<strong>

**New chapter up, sat ish, if I have it finished so I apologise in advance if it's late.**

**Have a good one!**


	5. Insulting a Detective

"Is Eliot going to hurry up and get me out of here," Sophie complained as she paced in circles around the dingy interrogation room.

"Judging on his reaction, it could be a while," Nate informed her. "Did you want to run a…"

"Absolutely," Sophie replied as she sat down determinedly at the interrogation table. "Let the games begin."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Let's squeeze her like a grape," Lassiter declared walking decidedly towards the interrogation room.

"What about Shawn?" Juliet reminded him as she followed him, struggling to keep up with the determined man in her heels.

"It's been three hours O'Hara," he replied, opening the door quickly so she could not complain further.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The older detective walked through the door, followed quickly by the female detective; she looked innocent, Sophie decided. He looked competitive, angry and like no had ever hugged him in his life.

"Miss Myers," Lassiter began. "So you're the interim curator down at the gallery?"

"Of course," Sophie said smugly.

"Why interim and not assistant?" the detective queried. "Or, better yet, why not just curator?"

Sophie raised her eyebrow; she could see what the detective was doing, playing on her ego. But she had been doing that for a lot longer than him.

_ "I'm gonna get her what I can on this guy," _Hardison began, typing the detectives name into his computer.

"_No, no, she won't need it," _Nate stated; he had complete faith in Sophie's grifting abilities.

"Have you any idea what's involved in being a curator?" Sophie asked.

"Money, good career, profile…" Lassiter stated.

"Travel," Sophie finished bluntly.

"Travel?" O'Hara confirmed.

"Yes! Travel here, travel there, travel back there again," Sophie explained, waving her head from side to side, gesturing the here and there's. "It's a nightmare. Spending all that time cramped up in buses and planes. No thankyou, I like my cosy little bungalow just fine."

"What about the money?" Lassiter enquired, obviously unconvinced.

"What about it?"

"A _real _curator would certainly make more than the assistant," he clarified and Sophie glared at him. Had she actually been an assistant curator, that _real _curator jab would have made her furious."

"It's not about the money," Sophie replied "It's about the art!" she continued, flourishing her hands.

"The art?" Lassiter said in disbelief.

"Yes…"

"_Sophie, this guy really likes his guns," _Hardison informed her. "_Have a dig at that."_

_ "He's like the anti-Eliot," _Parker noted, reading the file over Hardison's shoulder.

"Take that gun for example," Sophie continued, now armed with new information. "Dismantle it, paint some of the pieces, set it on top of an image of a famous artwork, you have a comment on how guns are destroying the artistic side of the world."

Juliet shifted her weight uncomfortably, knowing her partner and how he would react all too well.

"Gun's destroying…. Dismantle and paint?" Lassiter asked, the sheer audacity and inconceivable nature of Sophie's comment rendering him unable to complete a sentence.

"Where were you when LaFleur was killed?" O'Hara asked, running interference.

"When was he killed?" Sophie asked honestly; the only timeline they had on his death was two days ago and there was a lot a bunch of thieves could do in two days.

"Wednesday morning around 11:30am to one pm," the female detective replied, pausing to look at some notes.

"Wednesday morning? Well I was consulting with an artist on his artwork," Sophie replied.

"_That would be you," _Nate said to Hardison, patting him on the shoulder.

"A young man by the name of Lance…"

"_Not Lance, not Lance," _Hardison said quickly. "_I aint got no ID for any Lance. Uh, go William Sykes." _Sophie rolled her eyes slightly at the uninventive name.

"Sorry, that was the meeting I had yesterday," Sophie corrected. "William Sykes is his name."

"Well, we'll need to speak to him," Lassiter said bitterly.

"Of course," Sophie smiled as she pulled out her phone. "William's number," she prompted sliding the phone over to the detectives, who quickly wrote it down."

"How do we know he's not in on it?" Lassiter questioned suspiciously.

"Of course he's not _in on it. _La Fleur was giving him his big break by hanging his art. I, on the other hand, was not a fan of his pieces," Sophie explained. "They were so passe, depicting the civil war. There's so many better things more you can speak about in art, like anti-government protesting rather than silly cowboys."

Lassiter's jaw opened wide; he couldn't believe his ears.

"We'll follow this up but if everything clears you'll be free to go," Juliet said quickly as she practically dragged the older detective out the door.

"_Evil Sophie!" _Parker cackled enthusiastically.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Several minutes later the detectives returned, Lassiter more irate than he had been before; clearly he wasn't happy with Sophie's innocence.

"Looks like your story checked out," Juliet stated, smiling politely at the grifter.

"Of course it did," Sophie replied then stood up out of her chair. "Might I leave now, I have a job to get back to."

"You can leave when we say so!" Lassiter snapped and Sophie shot her eyes at him. She sat back down slowly, without breaking eye contact.

"_What Lassiter means,"_ Juliet began, hinting at her partner to change his attitude. "Is we have a few more questions to ask you. Do you know why LaFleur was staying at a hotel."

Sophie paused for a minute; she did know why LaFleur was in a hotel. They had needed to get him out of the gallery for them to be able to run a con on him, so he had miraculously one a week's getaway in one of the best hotel's in Santa Barbara. With massages, food from a five star restaurant, personal driver and entertainment paid for, it was a difficult offer for him to refuse.

"I think he said something about winning a week away," she told them instead, sticking to the truth as much as she dared.

"Do you know about who he had any disagreements with, anyone who might have wanted to hurt him?" the female detective continued as Lassiter sulked, his eyes still squinting at Sophie.

_"We'll leave that to Eliot?"_ Hardison asked the Mastermind.

_"Yeah,"_ Nate replied. _"Let him bring up the man's skeletons. It'll be more credible."_

"No, sorry," Sophie informed. "He was a very private."

Juliet sighed; she had hoped, in the back of her mind that this would be an easy case.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"How was jail?" Hardison asked without looking up from his screen as Sophie walked, huffing, into the hotel room.

"Just oodles of fun," she replied sarcastically. "How's everything going on this end?"

"I've spent the last few hours going through our mark's history to see if there's anything that could tell us who wants him dead."

"And?"

"The list is long."

"Maybe they all did it," Parker chimed in. "Maybe it's a web of conspiracy and they all teamed up to kill him."

"Uh, sure girl," Hardison obliged her. "I'll put that on the list."

_ "Sophie outta custody yet?" _Eliot's voice came over the comms.

"Yup," Hardison replied. "Which you would know if you had your comms in. How goes the family reunion?"

_ "Painful,"_ he said simply_. "How'd she get out?"_

"She's Sophie. She talked her way out of it," Hardison stated as he grinned. "You shoulda heard it too; detective didn't know what hit him!"

Eliot grinned; leave it to Sophie to drive a couple of cops mad.

"These guys Eliot, they going to be an issue? Or a help?" Nate asked, joining in the conversation.

_ "Much as I hate to admit it, the latter,"_ Eliot confessed.

"Good," the mastermind replied. "We may need their help."

* * *

><p><strong>Hoped you guys liked that. Sorry it took me longer than usual to update. Extreme weather has meant extra work which means less time to write. Not to mention said weather makes it hard to write.<strong>

**I'll probably be only doing one update a week for a little while, just until I get some things back on track. **

**Also, sorry I haven't gotten back to your reviews (something I usually try to do) soo.**

**nas2439 - You should definitely watch it. And if you haven't watched Psych, I really appreciate you reading this so thank you.**

**Yua-hime - glad you enjoyed it (especially the scream) that's what I was going for. Eliot's my favourite too (followed by Parker and Hardison second) and I'll do my best to make the interaction between Shawn and Parker epicly fun!**

**jinxcat21 - three times? high praise indeed! Thank you. I'm so glad you enjoyed it that much**

**SweetyKinz- glad you thought it was funny, I certainly did. And neither can I.**

**Ta, **

**A Lyrical Dreamer**


	6. Play Along

"Gus!" Shawn yelled excitedly, rapping on his friends' front door. "Gus!" He yelled again when he heard no movement from inside. "Gus!" he tried again, quickening his knocking to an annoying pace.

"Really Shawn?" Gus shouted as he opened the door, still in his pyjamas, while the psychic remained knocking on thin air. Gus grabbed his hand out of annoyance. "It's my sleep in day."

"Sleep in Gus, really, we aren't 22 anymore," Shawn teased; Gus was too tired to come up with a retort. "Get dressed man! I wanna go down to the station!"

"Wait, lemme get this straight," Gus began, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "You want to go to work?" Gus asked in disbelief. "You?"

"Come on Gus! You were there yesterday; this job is going to be epic. Let's get into it!" Shawn yelled excitedly, forcing his way into his best friends' apartment.

"This job is going to get us killed," Gus replied but obliged his friend as he stepped into his room to change.

"Dude, Eliot's not going to let us die," Shawn laughed.

"That's who I'm worried about," Gus murmured, but behind the shut door, Shawn couldn't exactly hear him.

"Speak of the devil!" Shawn yelled as his phone rang in his pocket and Eliot's number came up. "Eliot!"

_"Shawn," _came the patented Eliot growl from the other end of the line.

"I divine that you need my help," Shawn said smugly, raising his hand to his temple.

"_I'm coming into the precinct today; play along," _the hitter explained vaguely.

"Sure man, whatever you need," Shawn agreed. "But am I gonna find out what this is about because I really don't feel comfortable lying…"

"_You don't feel comfortable lying?" _Eliot snickered.

"It's more I don't feel comfortable being lied to," Shawn revealed. "Look man let me join in on the awesomeness."

There was muffled talking on the other end of the phone; the only words Shawn could make out were several words which couldn't even be repeated on night-time television and the damning of someone named Hardison.

"_Play along today and we'll let you in on the job," _Eliot resigned, though Shawn had a not so sneaking suspicion that that wasn't his idea.

"I can be your wingman anytime!" Shawn quoted gleefully.

"_Thanks Shawn,"_ Eliot replied in a considerably happier tone; that line always put Shawn on his cousin's good side. "_Oh and Shawn_," he added.

"Yeah,"

_"You screw this up you'll be flyin' outta a plane full of rubber dog shit_," Eliot threatened half-heartedly.

"That's not the line dude…" he began but was interrupted by a beeping on the other side of the phone.

"Who was that?" Gus asked as he exited his room and pulled on a blazer.

"Uh, Eliot," Shawn said, placing his phone into his pocket.

"What'd he say?" the salesman asked suspiciously as he walked to the front door.

"Dunno," Shawn replied, following Gus outside. "Said something about 'playing along'. He was kinda vague actually."

"If I die because of this case Shawn I'm coming back and haunting you when you sleep," Gus declared, his mind churning through all of the possibilities as to what could go wrong.

"Gus, I'd be honoured."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Spencer!" Lassiter yelled as the psychic and Gus walked down the stairs towards the interrogation room several hours after the Spencer family reunion.

"Lassie!" Shawn yelled back.

"We thought you were coming to the interrogation?" Juliet enquired, standing beside the older detective.

"We were but we got distracted by pineapple flavoured churros," Gus informed.

"Which, as it turns out, doesn't taste like pineapple," Shawn added. "I'm heard you got nothing from the assistant curator," he continued.

"Yes…" Juliet began but was promptly interrupted by the older detective.

"The plan was to let her stew," Lassiter began. "Then to crack her like an elephant stepping on a peanut."

"That's mildly disturbing," Gus stated.

"But we got nothing," the detective concluded. "It should have worked."

"I actually think she's innocent," Juliet informed.

"So you let her go?" Gus asked.

"Yes," Carlton whined. "We had nothing to hold her on."

"I think that was a dead end anyway man," Shawn informed, giving the man a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

"Detectives," came a voice from up the stairs.

"Buzz!" Shawn and Gus both yelled affectionately.

"Hi guys," the uniform cop greeted in response. "The chief wants to see you all."

The four of them quickly ran upstairs to Vick's office, entering the room quickly and eagerly; the Chief was sitting at her desk and a well-built man, in a dark coloured suit and the top half of his hair tied into a pony tail stood in front of it.

"So that's what he meant by play along," Shawn muttered.

"Detectives," Vick greeted. "This is Agent Mark Priestley with the FBI. Henderson this is Detective Lassiter and O'Hara," the chief introduced and Shawn made a mental note to ask his cousin how to Shawn made a mental note to ask his cousin how to get a cool fake name like that.

* * *

><p><strong>Firstly, thank you for your patients in my uploading.<strong>

**Secondly, thank you for your reviews**

**Thirdly, thank you for all of the follows and favourites! I'm so glad so many of you are enjoying it. :)**


	7. Yet Another Spencer

"Can I help you?" an oddly tall, dark haired uniform cop asked Eliot as he entered the precinct dressed in a plain black suit and loosely fitted tie.

"I'm looking for the chief," he replied, flashing his FBI credentials to the younger man.

"Yeah, sure, right this way," the man said and walked Eliot through to the chief's office. "There's an FBI agent here to see you," Eliot heard the cop whisper to the chief over the desk before he scuttled away.

"Chief Vick, what can I do for you?" the female stated and Eliot silently thanked her for not beating around the bush and getting straight to the point.

"Agent Mark Priestley with the FBI," he said, showing her the badge on his hip. "I've been informed that you're investigating the murder of one,"

_"George LaFleur,"_ Hardison offered.

"George LaFleur," the hitter continued. "I've been instructed to take part in the investigation."

"With all due respect Agent," the chief said swaying in her chair before she abruptly stopped. "Why?"

"LaFleur has been under our investigation for a good time now and my bosses would like to make sure their investigation isn't undermined or compromised," Eliot exclaimed. "My orders are here and there's a number you can call on the top." He handed her, thanks to Hardison, an extremely authentic slip of paper from his pocket which the chief took a moment to scour over before picking up her phone and dialing the number. It rang for two rings before Parker picked up.

_ "Deputy Director Pistole's office,"_ the thief greeted a fake smile plastered across her face, despite the fact that she could not be seen by the Chief. _"How may I help you?"_

"Yes, this is Chief Vick of the Santa Barbara Police Department. I'm calling to confirm the orders of a one Agent Mark Priestley," she stated, leaning forward on her chair.

_ "Hold Please,"_ Parker instructed as she handed the phone to Nate; the mastermind waited a few seconds before putting the device to his ear.

_ "Chief,"_ Nate greeted, altering his accent ever so slightly so that it sounded like there were southern influences. _"Deputy Director Pistole. And I can confirm Agent Priestley's orders."_

"May I ask what LaFleur was under investigation for?" Vick queried.

_ "Fraud,"_ Nate explained vaguely. _"I'll let my man explain as needed. This isn't going to be a problem is it?"_

"Not at all," the chief declared bitterly and both Eliot and Nate got the sense that this woman did not like to be undermined.

_"Good. I'll leave you to it then,"_ Nate declared and then hung up the phone.

The chief slowly put her phone back down before standing up, straightening her suit and holding her hand out for Eliot to shake.

"Welcome aboard."

"Thankyou," Eliot said. "I'll do my best not to get in your way."

The chief nodded in thanks before she called in the uniform cop from earlier to fetch the detectives. It was only a few minutes before they entered the room and, without turning around Eliot could discern four footsteps; three male and one female, judging by the feel of it.

"Detectives," Vick greeted. "This is Agent Mark Priestley with the FBI. Henderson this is Detective Lassiter and O'Hara," the chief introduced. Turning around Eliot could was faced with a stunning young blonde, a salt and pepper haired angry looking gentlemen and the two idiots.

"Detective, Ma'am," Eliot greeted shaking each of their hands in turn, lingering on Juliet's for a moment as he subtly flirted; a gesture which she reciprocated.

Shawn squinted his eyes in jelousy.

"And this is our resident Psychic Mr Shawn Spencer and his partner Burton Guster," the chief continued.

Through the comms Eliot heard Parker gasp; a reflex he supposed.

_"Not a real psychic Parker,"_ Nate reminded her.

"_Yeah, not real," _the thief reassured herself.

Eliot greeted Gus and then, as he moved to shake Shawn's hand, gave him a menacing stare. He then shook his hand; a bone crushing shake which was clearly a warning; _blow my cover and die._

"Wow your handshake is strong," Shawn not so amazingly observed, then, on the conclusion of the shake, flapped his hand about in relief that no fingers were broken.

"Anyway," Vick began. "Agent Priestly is here to assist on the LaFleur case."

"With all due respect chief, we don't need assistance," Lassiter protested.

_ "Ha!"_ Parker laughed. _"Police not needing any help that's seriously crazy! If the police didn't need help what would we be for!"_

"This comes from above my head, detectives," Vick explained.

"It can't hurt to have an extra set of hands," Shawn suggested, trying to play his part.

"My thoughts exactly," Eliot agreed.

"Well, shall we?" Juliet said, clearly enamoured as she gestured out the door.

"After you," the agent offered courteously and Shawn narrowed his eyes in jealousy. He reluctantly followed them out the door, followed by Gus and Lassiter (utterly frustrated that his territory was being taken over). He was about to strike up a conversation with his cousin when, out of the corner of his eye, Shawn spotted his father walking into the precinct.

"Uh-oh," Shawn exclaimed; he needed to run intervention. "Dad!" Shawn exclaimed quickly, bouncing over to the older man, who turned around his eyes widening at the sight of Eliot.

_"This can't be good,"_ Hardison noted.

"El…."

_"He's going to blow your cover," _Sophie exclaimed, worry protruding from her voice.

"Dad!" Shawn interrupted, while the four thieves on the opposite side of the comms let out a sigh of relief. "Dad this is Agent Priestly with the FBI. The _FBI_ dad," Shawn hinted in a manner which would never, ever be described as subtle. "_The FBI."_

"_This guy runs a long con?"_ Sophie asked in disbelief; his intervention techniques not impressing her in the slightest.

"He gets it Shawn," Gus stated.

"Henry Spencer," he greeted, handing out his hand suspiciously to the agent.

"Nice to meet you," Eliot greeted back then turned to walk back to the detectives, shooting Shawn a look; deal with this!

_ "I can't believe you never told us that you have not one, but two relatives working for the SBPD!"_ Hardison exclaimed.

"Never was an issue 'till now," Eliot muttered

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"FBI? Really Shawn?" Henry asked in disbelief. "It's bad enough that you're pretending to be a psychic but now you're aiding and abetting."

"Dad! It's Eliot," Shawn complained childishly.

"Since when do you care so much about family?" he asked rhetorically. "Look Shawn, as a person, Eliot's a great guy and an even greater fishing partner, but professionally?"

"Spencer!" Lassiter yelled and both Henry and Shawn snapped their heads around to the head detective; luckily only the two local Spencers and Gus noticed how Eliot, standing next to Lassiter, had to refrain from doing the same. "Either be useful or get lost!" Apparently Lassiter _really_ didn't like his territory being encroached on.

"Coming Lassie!" Shawn yelled back, and then turned to his father again. "Look Dad, I get it, but you need to trust me on this,"

"Shawn!"

"I'll explain later," Shawn replied to his father's yell, already running off towards the others.

"So how do you want go about this?" Lassiter asked the hitter as Shawn approached.

"I'd like to speak with the coroner and see the autopsy report," he declared.

"Really?" Gus enquired, his stomach already beginning to churn.

"You'd be surprised what you can learn from a stiff," Eliot explained.

"Suit yourself," the detective shrugged as he moved to lead the agent downstairs to autopsy.


	8. The One Where They Go Down To Autopsy

The two detectives led Eliot, tailed eagerly by Gus and Shawn, down to the autopsy room.

"No Woody?" Shawn asked in disappointment when he saw the cold, sterile room was void of any live bodies.

"He's out," Juliet informed. "Something to do with a motorhome, Christmas tree and a coy fish."

Eliot ignored the randomness of the statement, passing it off with the idea that everyone his cousin knew was slightly… off centre. Though Shawn would say an eccentric who looks good in jeans.

Their mark was laying out on the slab, the lower half of his body covered by industrial strength plastic. The congregation of detectives and con men surrounded the table, all eyeing Eliot as he carefully examined the stab wounds into the man's chest and abdomen.

Gus, unlike the others, was standing in the corner of the room facing the wall, waiting for an opportunity to excuse himself from the room without losing what little dignity he had left.

"Is that a Walther PPK?" Lassiter asked Eliot, eyeing the gun strapped neatly in its holster under his arm as he leant forward to pick up the autopsy report.

_Perhaps he will be useful after all?_ The detective thought to himself; he was of the belief that handguns told you a lot about a person and someone with a good of a taste to carry a PPK would have to somewhat useful.

It wasn't of course, a real gun as Eliot was not a fan of guns himself but, considering the part he was playing, it would be remiss of him not to carry some sort of gun. Or, at least, something that appeared to be a gun. The weapon which Detective Lassiter had so keenly observed, though not an actual Walther, was a replica air rifle and, unless, you were holding it and extremely well educated in the matter of firearms, could not tell the difference.

"Yup," Eliot replied simply. "Is that an M1911?" gesturing to the detectives gun.

"Yes, yes it is!" the Lassiter declared gleefully and Eliot did what the detective never thought anyone would do; he scoffed. "Did you just belittle the Yankee Fist?" he asked in horror.

"Yeah," Eliot said as though it was obvious as he continued to examine the report and the body. "It's unreliable, its aim is just a little to the left, jams too often and takes too long to reload. Not to mention the cost."

Lassiter looked like someone had just called Tombstone a bad film.

"Are you serious?" he asked in disbelief. "And why should the cost matter; you buy one gun and that's it."

Eliot shrugged. For most people, that would be true but back in his Moreau and hitter days guns had to be used and then discarded, meaning that an expensive gun was an impractical gun.

"_And?" _Hardison queried over the comms, he and the rest of the team awaiting Eliot's verdict as they watched over the security feeds which Hardison had hacked into the night before.

_"_Wasn't a professional hit," Eliot informed his team and those in the interrogation room.

"You can tell that just by looking at our dead guy?" Shawn asked in awe and then tapped Gus lightly on the arm, trying to get him to turn around. "Gus he can tell that just by looking at our dead guy."

"Cut it out Shawn," Gus warned as his stomach churned.

"Why would it be a professional hit?" Lassiter asked abrasively. "The guy was curator at a second rate art museum…"

Through the comms Sophie scoffed.

"… the only people he pissed off were probably artist for not hanging their work up correctly."

"Why do you think I'm here for?" Eliot asked in response, matching the detectives insensitivity. "The guy was under investigation for multiple accounts of fraud, money laundering and racketeering. You think a guy like that doesn't have enemies?"

"So what's our next move?" Juliet enquired, stepping into to avoid a confrontation she was sure was coming

"_Okay so, what we need to do," _Nate began. "_Is find out who hated our mark enough to kill him."_

_ "But that could be anyone," _Parker pointed out.

"We can rule out any gangs or organised crime for the killing," Eliot stated. "And we can narrow it down to people who he ripped off."

"_We need to find out who's in the area," _Hardison stated.

"Start with people who are in the area," Eliot relayed.

"_Wait, what about our client's money?" _Sophie asked.

_ "We'll get to that," _Nate replied. "_First priority is finding the killer."_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Papa Bear!" Shawn exclaimed as Henry walked into the Psych office.

"Shawn!" his father yelled. "What's going on?"

"Well, Gus and I were about to make s'mores," Shawn joked glancing over at his partner for support. Gus simply rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to his computer.

"I'm serious Shawn. Do you know what you're getting yourself into?"

"Chocolatey, marshmallowy goodness."

"Shawn," Henry huffed. "You're aware of your cousin's reputation aren't you?"

"Of badassery?" he joked.

"Shawn," his father warned. "I know you think your cousin is some sort of… Mr T but he's worked for a lot of bad people Shawn; he's not all good."

"Oh my goodness! Dad! Stop being paranoid," Shawn exclaimed as his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and gave it a quick glance. "Can we do this later dad?" he asked quickly, grabbing his jacket off the hat stand.

"What?"

"Yeah, Gus and I gotta go feed some llamas; very important," Shawn said as quickly as he could as he scampered out the door dragging a confused Gus behind him.

* * *

><p><strong>I'd like to thank you for your patience in my uploading (it's much appreciated), updating will likely be slowed (if I haven't said that already) so I apologise in advance. <strong>

**Even more thanks and for all of the reviews, follows and favourites!**

**It's the most I've ever gotten on a story so thank you. **

**Ta, **

**A Lyrical Dreamer**


	9. Interlude

Firstly, I'm going to say that this isn't a chapter update. Secondly, the amount of follows and favourites I have on this is amazing; thank you. Thirdly, I'm writing this to let you know that I AM working on this story, I've just been so caught up at the moment, I'm barely getting any chance to write. I'd like to thank you in advance for your patience and PROMISE the story will be finished, just in a little while. In saying that, if you have anything in particular you want to see, any musings, interactions you think would work well, don't hesitate to drop me a line. In summary, sorry, thank you, watch this space =) 


	10. The Hotel Santa Barbara

"So?" Hardison queried when they were all back at the hotel room.

"Wasn't a professional hit," Eliot replied, despite the fact he'd already relayed that information to the team and knowing full well that this wasn't what the hacker was asking; he continued anyway. "Knife work was sloppy and he was stabbed in all the wrong places; it probably took him 15 minutes to bleed out."

"It worked though didn't it?" Parker queried, sitting on top of the coffee table, fiddling with a lock in her hand.

"Any professional hit man wouldn't leave their mark alive where they can be saved or be a witness," Eliot explained further

"Not that this isn't interesting, or creepy as hell, but I was referring to the not one, but two relatives that work with the SBPD?" The hacker tried again, raising his brow and leaning back on the couch.

"Yeah, I'm interested in that as well," Nate added, just as curious as the others, even if they did not express it; the secretive past of their hitter had interested them all.

"Henry is my uncle, been a cop for as long as I can remember. A good one too," Eliot explained reluctantly before there was an angry banging on the hotel door; the team exchanged glances before Eliot stood up, grabbing a nearby umbrella, which Eliot could turn into a deadly weapon at a moment's notice for protection. What an umbrella was doing in the sunny city of Santa Barbara he wasn't sure but, honestly, he didn't really care.

He walked over to the door and, after looking through the peephole he opened it to find Shawn leaning suavely against the door frame, clad in a leather jacket, aviators and deep red cravat. Behind him, Gus was standing in his regular clothes with his arms and brow crossed in frustration.

"Shawn?" Eliot asked as he opened the door. "Why are you here?"

"Because you sent me a text!" Shawn said, slapping his cousin lightly on the arm as he coolly pulled off his glasses, tucked them into his top and walked inside the room; Gus followed cautiously.

"I didn't," Eliot began to protest but then turned back inside to face the team. "Dammit Hardison!"

"Nate made me do it!" the hacker complained pointing at the mastermind.

"So, this is what an international life of crime looks like," Shawn exclaimed looking about the lavish suite and the paperwork and various gizmos which were laid out on the tables.

"You think that's something, you should see Parker's place," Hardison exclaimed.

"And Parker is?"

"Our resident thief," Eliot said, pointing to the blonde.

Hello," Gus said, eyeing off Parker in his deep, 'flirtatious' voice. Parker eyed him back cautiously as she instinctively grabbed the nearest fork.

"Parker," Nate warned and the thief loosened her grip on the utensil. At this moment, Shawn took a step further away from the thief, who had just a hint too much of crazy on her for his liking, and not the good kind. Gus, on the other hand, sat down next to the thief and continued to (try) flirt with her.

At this point, Eliot smirked at the notion that Gus stayed well away from Eliot, but was okay flirting with one of the most unstable people on the planet.

"I'm divining that you," Shawn said pointing his finger at Hardison. "Are the resident geek, Basher Tarr meets Livingston Bell, if you will."

Hardison nodded but he wasn't the slightest bit impressed with the man's deduction skills; the hacker was, after all, sitting at a computer and wearing a star wars t-shirt.

"Alec Hardison, at your service," he greeted.

"And you," Shawn continued, spinning on the heels of his feet to face Sophie. "You would be the team's grifter."

"Sophie Deveraux," she smiled.

"Which leaves," the psychic continued, spinning further around so he was faced to face with Nate. "Mr Ocean, Hannibal, Hood himself; Nathan Ford."

"And you would be Mr Jane," Nate said smugly.

"Hmmm, I'm not a fan of that comparison," Shawn stated. "Or with Gus being a woman."

Parker raised her eyebrow at this statement and scooched over in an attempt to put more space between her and Gus.

"So…" Shawn began but was interrupted by a knock at the door. Eliot picked up the umbrella again and walked towards the door and, checking in the peephole, sighed. He took a moment to collect himself before he opened it.

"Henry," he greeted with an almost, slightly half smile.

"Eliot," Henry said, lightly pushing his way past the hitter and into the hotel room.

"Dad?" Shawn exclaimed.

"Either you tell me what's going on or leave. I won't have you dragging Shawn into whatever illegal game you've got going," the man declared, pointing his finger into Eliot's face.

"How did you know I was here?" Eliot asked, concerned and honestly confused, as he tossed the umbrella aside.

"I tailed Shawn," Henry stated and Eliot tossed Shawn a dirty look. "I was a cop for thirty years remember?" Henry said, wandering further into the hotel room, where he saw the remainder of the team sitting on the couches while Gus and Shawn still stood idly in the room. He only recognised Sophie. "Myers?" he questioned to no one in particular and then turned to Eliot. "Why is the interim curator here?" Henry crossed his arms in a patented Spencer 'give-me-what-I-want-'cause-I-ain't-moving' stance.

Eliot returned the stance and, had Nate not stepped in, it was highly likely the two would have sat a stalemate for a long period of time.

"Uh, Eliot maybe you should just," Nate suggested then shrugged, suggesting Eliot to just tell him what was going on.

"What?" Parker asked, not overly fond of the idea of confessing their crimes and MO to a cop. Eliot rubbed his forehead in frustration; sometimes family was just too complicated.

"Henry, this is my team," the hitter began reluctantly. "Hardison, Parker, Sophie and Nate," he introduced.

"What have you got to do with this case?" the elder Spencer enquired.

"The guy who died he was our mark," Eliot explained.

"You're con men?" Henry asked in disbelief, though in his mind he was thinking that that was a definite step up from whatever Eliot had previously been. "And you're dragging Shawn into this?"

"I resent the implication that I was dragged!" Shawn protested.

"We're not bad con men," Parker jumped in. "We're good ones!"

"We run cons on people take advantage of others," Eliot explained further.

There was a quizzical look on Henry's face.

"Think, think Robin Hood," Hardison suggested and Henry nodded.

"See Dad, told you it was nothing to worry about," the psychic reassured his father, feeling though he had digressed back to a teenager.

"You break the law," Henry stated matter of factly.

"Eh, pick up where the law leaves off," Nate suggested alternatively.

"You still break the law."

"You're telling me you've never pushed boundaries to do the right thing?" Nate questioned.

"Point taken," Henry accepted as he grew more comfortable in his surroundings and pulled up a chair. "So what'd this guy do?" He said and leant forward with his hands clasped and elbows on his knees. Meanwhile Shawn wandered about the room, eyeing off and fiddling with all of the gadgets flung about the room.

"Well," Nate began then paused to look at Eliot for confirmation to explain; the hitter nodded at him to continue. "It's actually quite ingenious. Paintings would come into the gallery, he would have forgeries made up and either sell off the originals on the black market or keep them for himself."

"I think I saw this on a movie once," Shawn noted.

"It's criminal but it's not exactly hurting anyone," Henry pointed out ignoring, along with everyone else, Shawn's comment.

"Except for the fact he's been doing this all over the country with different identities…"

"How does one go about getting one of these, fake identities?" Shawn interrupted. "Because it could come in handy," he laughed.

"Hours and hours of gruelling hard work," Hardison replied.

"How much?"

"Shawn!" both Eliot and Henry yelled.

"Can I continue?" Nate asked sarcastically before he continued his brief. " Basically, in every city he's been in an innocent person has taken the fall for him," Hardison added.

"And now he's dead?" Henry confirmed.

"As a doornail," Parker replied.

"And you didn't kill him?" he asked, directing his question at Eliot.

"That's what I asked," Gus chimed in.

_What is it with this family and thinking I killed someone_, he thought. "No," the hitter replied groughly.

"So who did?"

"That's what we need to find out," Nate replied.

"Sounds like you need a little of this," Shawn said gleefully as he put his right hand to his scalp. "A whole lotta this," he continued placing his left hand on his other temple. "And probably a lot of this," he added, hovering his hands over Hardison's gadgets.

* * *

><p><strong>Wow! You're response to this has been amazing guys, thank you!<strong>

**Here's a nice long chapter to tide you over to the next one. **

**Unfortunately my computer crashed and I lost this story so I'm having to slowly rewrite it...**

**BUT, never fear, it'll only be more awesome!**

**Reviews have been amazing my friends, keep it up. **

**Ta,**

**A Lyrical Dreamer**


	11. Irregardless

"We're walking into the building," Gus stated; his voice was low and smooth, and his body was in jackal mode. "We're smiling," he described as he nodded at one of the female uniforms.

"What the hell is that?" Eliot asked, walking normally behind and rolling his eyes.

"Gus you're being totally conspicuous," Shawn declared as he followed Gus donned in a three piece suit, minus the jacket; the irony was not lost on him, but he did not care. "And that's his radio voice," he added.

"I told you they didn't need earbuds," Eliot stated to the mastermind.

"_They'll be fine," _Nate reassured, though in the back of his mind he was wondering if the values of keeping the lines of communication open were worth the frustration of their childish antics. The only thing reassuring him of his decision was the notion that they, particularly Shawn, would provide a unique perspective on this case.

"_Just try and remember we can see everything you're doing through the security cameras and hear everything _perfectly _through the coms," _Hardison clarified once more.

"_Yeah, no need for the radio voice," _Sophie added.

"Juliet!" Shawn yelled out at the blonde detective sitting at her desk.

"What are you wearing?" she questioned, looking up and down at Shawn's suit.

"Class, Juliet. Class, silk and daringness," he replied. "You got anything on LaFleur?"

"Well I checked through Priestly's files," she looked briefly up at Eliot then back down at her paperwork, a small smile flashing across her cheeks. "And he's right; he's ripped off people all across the country, but all under different aliases. I'm amazed you were able to keep up with him."

"Well, that's my job ma'am," Eliot smiled.

"Ma'am?" the psychic snickered, tapping Gus' arm for support.

"It's courteous and traditional Shawn," Gus replied.

"So where should we start?" Juliet asked Eliot, ignoring, like usual, the minor banter between the other two.

"Well, like you said," Eliot began. "It's a miracle we were able to keep up with him, so chances of this being someone from his earlier cons and other identities is slim. It's probably a victim in this area, or someone who moved here and recognised him."

"There's more a hundred and fifty names on this list, it's going to take us hours to plough through it."

At the mention of hours of work, both Gus and Shawn began to slowly move away; edging towards the door, one subtle foot at a time.

"Well, that's why we have computer geeks and analysts," Eliot smiled. "They narrowed it down to eight people who live or have moved to the area, as of last night."

At the mention of only eight suspects, Shawn and Gus immediately moved back towards the desk; taking one, massive step so they were flush against it.

Eliot rolled his eyes and took out a piece of paper with the names of the suspects on it; he handed it to Juliet who brought the files up on the computer.

Shawn's eyes scanned them quickly.

"My psychic abilities have politely, and in a timely fashion, informed me that the culprit is one of these three here." He pointed to three of the names in the middle. "We should start there."

_"__How in the hell?" _Hardison questioned.

"Well great!" Juliet exclaimed enthusiastically. "Let's get going."

"Uh, actually," Shawn began, but was interrupted by his father, yelling from across the room.

"Priestly!" Henry yelled.

"'Scuse me," Eliot stated and turned to walk towards his uncle.

Shawn looked over for a minute but decided that it was probably best that he kept out of whatever heated conversation they were about to have.

"I was thinking," Shawn continued, turning back to the female detective. "You and Lassie go hunt down the first name on that list while Gus, Priestly and I take numbers two and three."

"Nice try Shawn, I will be staying here where there are witnesses and I'm nice and safe," Gus declared, crossing his arms and sitting in the seat next to Juliet's desk. Shawn rolled his eyes while Juliet gave him a confused look.

"Witnesses…" Juliet began to ask when she was interrupted by Lassiter, who had been lurking (and listening) by the filing cabinet.

"I don't know why you're so eager to work with that Yankee Fist hating, suit of a cowboy of a clown? You hate the FBI," he sneered, squinting his eyes begrudgingly at Eliot.

"No, Lassie, _you _hate the FBI," Gus corrected.

"To be fair," Shawn began, turning his head towards his partner. "His hatred isn't without merit, I mean, the FBI are portrayed as the bad guys in _literally every _TV show; there must be a reason behind that."

"Because their bureaucracy impedes on hardworking, honest police work and they end up taking all the credit," Lassie whined.

"The X Files!" Shawn exclaimed, snapping his fingers.

"Because a show about aliens definitely portrays a realistic version of the feds," Gus replied sarcastically.

"Irregardless-"

"That's not a word Shawn," Gus corrected; his disappointment and annoyance for working with Shawn's cousin was filtering through.

"_Irregardless,"_ Shawn stated again. "This guy is cool with his mean attitude, kick ass right hook and whole mysterious thing he's got means _he's awesome _so we'll be following this lead with him."

"_You'll," _Gus corrected again.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"You following up a lead with Shawn?" Henry asked Eliot, crossing his arms and leaning comfortably back in his chair.

"That's the plan, apparently," Eliot replied, paying careful attention to his cousin's conversation on the other end of the coms.

"What do you need me to do?" the older man continued; there was very little consideration in his voice and the question was mostly out of concern for getting the job done.

"Your job," the hitter informed him. "And let us know if anything comes up that we should know about or might get in our way."

"Got it," Henry agreed and then turned back to his paper work.

"Do we have a problem Henry?" Eliot finally asked, against his better judgement. The tension and passive-aggressive hostility from his uncle would surely soon become an issue if it wasn't one already.

"Just look after him," Henry informed him and Eliot nodded; like he wasn't going to do that.

"_How on _earth_ did you narrow that down to three people?" _Hardison questioned as Eliot, Shawn and a reluctant Gus made their way to the car. "_I was up all night narrowing it down to eight, how-"_

"Actually, it was two people, the third was a decoy to give Jules and Lassie something to do," Shawn explained pulling the heavy front door open.


	12. Oliphant

"_So who are our two options?" _Hardison asked, leaning comfortably back on the couch.

"Chris Summons and Michael DuPont," Shawn disclosed, out of habit making his way towards the Blueberry. "Force of habit," he informed Eliot, after trying to open the locked door and shrugging away his terrifying stare. "So which car are we taking?" Eliot nodded over to his rental; a black, standard issue four wheel drive. Shawn stared at it before coming to a conclusion. "A little on the nose but I'll go for it."

_"And how did you narrow it down to those two names?" _Hardison asked.

"Suspects one through four are all soccer moms-"

_"Does _not_ meant they're not capable of killing," _Sophie interrupted. "_They're brutal."_

"Let me finish," Shawn continued gleefully, "soccer moms at a big meet interstate. Gus and I go every year, they have the best corndogs that we can't seem to find anywhere else." Eliot rolled his eyes and opened the driver side door. "Suspect number five is Summons, he's been in and out of rehab for anger management for the past few years."

_"How did you miss this?" _Parker asked Hardison. "_How did he miss this?" _she repeated.

"_I don't know," _the hacker replied quietly. "_There was nothing about rehab on any of his accounts, facebook, email, nothing."_

"True but-"

_"But people don't tend to put the fact that they went to rehab out there for everyone to see," _Nate finished for him, matter of factly.

"_Then how'd you figure it out?" _Hardison pressed.

"That one was Gus actually," he admitted as he stepped up into the vehicle. He rubbed his hand on his thighs as he sat down, trying out the vehicle. He flicked around in the compartments and under the visors looking for anything remotely exciting. "He's a pharmaceutical salesman and also an avid novelty pen collector and did rounds at the local rehab clinic. Number six and eight," he continued, "both work full time jobs and would have been working at the time of the murder, which leaves us with number seven, Michael DuPont." He finished with enthusiasm and waited for recognition.

Eliot just stared at him blankly. "You done?" the hitter finally asked.

"You're hacker guy wanted to know!" came Shawn's whiny reply as Eliot turned on the engine and, once again rolled his eyes.

"And now I wanna know where I'm going?"

"Ummm," Shawn looked as his cousin sheepishly, "that is an excellent question."

"Dammit Shawn!"

"Sycamore Lane," Gus declared seemingly out of nowhere as he opened the back door to the car and slid inside. "Summons' place is 537 Sycamore Lane. It's about a five minute drive from here."

"Gus!" the psychic spun enthusiastically in his seat to face his counterpart. "I knew you'd come!"

"Yeah well," Gus shrugged, "I liked the idea of an Ocean's Eleven's crossover too much to pass up."

"Put your damn seatbelt on," Eliot cursed as he pulled out of the police lot.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

_"Okay, here's what I got on Mr. Summons," _Hardison began to reel off as he took a large, thirst quenching gulp of orange soda. "_Born in Santa Barbara, went to high school in Santa Barbara. Got average grades, went to a local community college, got a job as a retailer, then went on to running his own business as a pool installer. It's actually a fairly steady business, well, until the whole La Fleur incident."_

"Yeah, what's his connection with La Fleur?" Eliot replied, pulling to the side of the road in front of Summons' house. It was an average, beaten weatherboard house in a plain grass garden, seemingly matching Hardison's description of the man.

_"Very little. La Fleur's MO is, was," _he corrected,_ "to get close enough to someone so he could swipe all their details enough to frame them, but not so close so people would consider him suspicious. It looks like he and La Fleur uh," _he paused, scanning his computer screen for the details, "_they met on a construction site."_

"What was our La Fleur doing at a construction site?" Gus asked, peeking through the window and eyeing of the house. He was still more than mildly suspicious. "He doesn't seem like builder type."

"True," Shawn agreed. "His suit was waaaay too nice to be involved with hammers and…" he searched for the word.

"Nails?" Eliot suggested begrudgingly.

"No, not nails," Shawn shook his head, "the long skinny thing that you hit."

"Nails Shawn," Gus pressed.

"No-"

"_The guy's a conman," _Sophie interrupted to the delight of many. "_He conned his way into the gallery, just like he conned his way into whatever construction site he was at."_

"Screw?" he finally guessed. Eliot heaved a heavy sigh and forced the car door open.

"Somebody has a screw lose," Eliot muttered under his breath as Gus followed suit, straightening up his jacket and shutting the door behind him.

Shawn lingered a moment; his face was screwed up still trying to figure it out. "Nuts? Bolts?"

"Shawn!" Eliot yelled and the psychic jumped out of his seat in an instant.

"So what's the plan?" Shawn asked, surveying the garden and house. The weatherboard house was dishevelled and beaten from the sea air. The garden was likewise unkempt. The whole block, in fact, looked like it hadn't been cared for since Summons had been conned by La Fleur. Shawn's eyes flicked towards the mail box; letters, junk mail, and newspapers were falling out of the traditional white box and piling on the ground, each in a different state of decay.

Eliot noticed it too and tensed up a little. "Let's go," he declared in a gruff tone of voice, marching forward up the concrete path. Shawn followed closely, a swagger in his step while Gus lingered behind, less excited than his counterparts. He lingered nervously at the bottom of the stairs while the hitter stepped up on the porch and rapped on the door. "Mr Summons?" Eliot called out, knocking on the door again. Shawn walked along the porch and did his best to peer through the windows. They were blocked off by thick, heavy curtains covered in dust. "Mr Summons?" Eliot tried again, growing slightly more frustrated at the lack of response. "Forget this," he muttered and stepped back to kick down the door. He was interrupted however, by Gus, sniffing the air repeatedly and wrinkling his nose up to the sky.

"What the hell is he doing?" he asked Shawn, throwing his hand at the other man. Gus continued to sniff and stepped further up the stairs.

"It's the Super Sniffer," Shawn explained nonchalantly. He moved to stand next to his cousin and crossed his arms over his chest. "Gus has an uncanny oliphant nerve," Eliot didn't bother correcting him, "and can smell anything, even Dunkin' Donuts from five miles away. How his skills play into the whole Ocean's 11, Jason Bourne scenario I don't really know but that's neither here or there."

Eliot rolled his eyes as he watched, with confused curiosity as Gus rolled his head trying to find the source of the smell. He then took one final big breath in then screwed up his face before his stomach lurched and face turned an unsightly colour.

"Oh dear," Shawn said quickly, waving his arm towards the front door. "We uh, need to go inside."

"Why?" Eliot asked, flicking his eyes towards Gus. His reaction was slightly disconcerting.

"That's Gus' 'I smell a dead body' face," Shawn interpreted. At the mention of a dead body, Eliot turned quickly around and, in a smooth, deadly motion, kicked at the door. It splintered in two.

While Gus was hunched over, gagging and clutching his stomach, Eliot, followed by Shawn rushed inside. The stench was noticeable to them now, and they both coughed overcome by the rancid smell.

After they'd rushed into the foyer they looked both ways to try and locate the source of the odour. They saw him immediately, tied to a chair and covered in blood. Eliot didn't bother to check for a pulse.

"Well, we know he's not the killer," Shawn stated, leaning in close to his cousin to make the point.

"You think?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Much love to you all for sticking by; there's more to come!_

_And if you don't hear from me in a while, PM me. Sometimes I need a good kick in the butt!_

_Thanks to my awesome friend SweetyKinz for kicking my butt to get this chapter out. _

_XX A Lyrical Dreamer_


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